


Sriracha

by RollingPeaches



Series: Get Shot and Fuckin' Die [2]
Category: Sand Castle (2017)
Genre: F/M, Swearing, omc shaw is mentioned, threatening to defecate on something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 16:42:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19891033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RollingPeaches/pseuds/RollingPeaches
Summary: Jasmine sends a care package to Captain Syverson.





	Sriracha

She spent two weeks going to random grocery stores and corner stores to find the most flavorful, well preserved foods that would survive high temperatures. Weird snacks, a lot of items had sriracha. People apparently put it on everything, peas, chickpeas, lentil chips, cashews, rice cakes. She found a bunch of unique jerky as well, veal, bison, wild boar. She threw in a few bottles of hot sauce so he could spice up his MREs, then meticulously packed it into a box, to protect the fragile chips and glass bottles, taped the shit out of the box, and mailed it, not sure how long it would exactly take.

Apparently, it took about ten days, because she got a call from a weird number on day ten. She answered with a clipped “Detective Lane,” as she tried to force her way through the front door with her purse on one shoulder, and four grocery bags on each arm.

“I swear, I have had to fight five men over your box.”

She blinked, then she snorted at the potentially derogatory meaning of that, “You got it?” she asked, dropping her groceries onto the counter.

“Yes, I got it. I beat the shit out of Shaw.”

“Shaw?” she asked, “He’s a sweetheart.”

“He’s afraid of you, that’s why you say that. He’s an asshole.”

She sputtered, because out of the lot of them Shaw was pretty respectable. Also, the notion that the kid was afraid of _her_ and not Sy was laughable.

“Nothing broke, right?”

“On Shaw?”

“In the box,” she expounded.

“The lentil chips are crumbs, whatever the hell a lentil is.”

“It’s a legume.”

“A leg-what?”

“The same family as peanuts.”

“You sent me legume chips?”

“It’s slathered in sriracha, you won’t know what you’re eating. Be glad I didn’t send the larva sampler.”

“I will shit on everything you love if you send me a larva sampler.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” she fired back having flash backs of Russel’s feud with her.

“Don’t send me bugs then.”

“You could use it as the decoy, get Shaw off your back.”

“No.”

“Or I could just send it to Shaw.”

“You aren’t sending anything to Shaw.”

Ten days later she found a box on her porch. She stared at it, then sliced into it, right on the porch. Sand. The motherfucker sent her sand. She threw her head back and laughed. At least he had the decency to bag it. She carried it into the house, then decided to head to a craft store, get some nice bottles to pour the sand into. She was keeping it. Once she selected her frosty, light blue bottles, she returned and funneled the sand into them. She had enough sand to fill four of the decorative bottles. She kept one on the table by the front door, one in her home office, and another on the kitchen counter, the fourth she took to work and put on her desk.


End file.
